What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Good evening, my lady,” she said, in what she prayed was a calm voice. “Is there something amiss?”

  Attired in a pink and gray silk dressing gown, Lady Lathbury stepped over the threshold, calmly peering around Fanny’s room, a frown on her face. “No, nothing of any serious import. I had gone to see to a guest who had complained of a headache and was returning to my suite. Passing by your room I noticed the lights on and thought you might be restless.”

  “Oh, no.” Fanny feigned lethargy by pretending to stifle a yawn. “I read for a while and had fallen asleep without blowing out the lamps.”

  “I see.” The countess smiled and turned toward the door.

  Fanny had just sent up a silent word of thanksgiving for the near escape when Lady Lathbury turned back to her.

  “As I am here now, perhaps you will indulge me in a brief chat, Lady Stephen. I have been so taken up with my other guests I fear I have not had the opportunity for us to become better acquainted.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Drat. Putting on the best cheerful face possible, Fanny motioned the countess toward the toilette table. “Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  As Lady Lathbury settled herself, Fanny drew a straight-backed chair from the writing desk and placed it opposite the bed. If the countess would be here, at least she’d face away from Matthew’s hiding place. “Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about, Lady Lathbury?”

  The countess smiled. “I suppose I wish to know everything about the woman my son wishes to marry. Rowley has told me of your circumstances. My condolences on your late husband.”

  “Thank you.” Good lord, but Stephen was the last person she wanted to talk about tonight. Fanny cocked her head. “Did you say ‘Rowley,’ my lady?”

  “My husband’s family has held the Viscountcy of Rowley since the seventeenth century. Therefore, my son’s title at birth was Lord Rowley. I have always called him that.” She pursed her lips. “He has also informed me that he has proposed to you and you have refused him—three times.” Hard blue eyes met hers with the warmth of an icicle.

  Swallowing convulsively, Fanny scarcely managed to answer, “Yes.” Every time she came within the woman’s presence her mouth dried up as though she’d bitten into the tartest lemon possible.

  “Four times if you count his proposal before your marriage to Lord Stephen.”

  If only she could hide under the bed as well. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Do you have some aversion to my son, Lady Stephen?”

  “Oh, no.” Fanny leaned over and grasped the woman’s hand as it lay rigid on her lap. “I love your son very much. Truly, I do.”

  “I must inform you, my dear, refusing his suit so often does not incline me to believe you.”

  Shaking her head, Fanny summoned all her strength to try to make her understand. “I will admit, when I first turned Lord Lathbury down, I was very young and inexperienced in the ways of Society. I had no one to guide or advise me and so made a horrible mistake. Had I not, I would have been your son’s wife these ten years.”

  “Inexperience can be forgiven. Most women have made at least one grave mistake as a result of ill advice.” Lady Lathbury’s tone had softened. “That does not, however, excuse your continual refusal of him during the past two months. I will warn you, Lady Stephen, when Rowley told me of your refusal when he returned from Brighton, I strongly urged him to abandon his efforts to secure you and turn his eye elsewhere for a wife.”

  Fanny hung her head, consumed with guilt. She’d been in the wrong to keep Matthew on her hook for so long. Admitting that now would do little good as far as his mother was concerned. If she could tell the countess of their betrothal it would perhaps put her in a better light, but she’d promised Matthew not to breathe a word of it to his mother. So what defense could she summon? “I do not blame you for that, Lady Lathbury. A mother must continue to look out for her child even after they reach adulthood. I have already told Matthew the reasons for my hesitation, now mainly having to do with my daughter.”

  “You have a child, Lady Stephen?” The countess leaned forward, an appraising light in her eyes. “Rowley did not mention that.”

  “I do not think he knew about her until quite recently. We had fallen out of touch before her birth.”

  “A daughter, then?”

  “Yes. Ella.”

  “Pretty name.” She nodded in approval. “She is how old?”

  “Six this past May.” The pleasantries were nice, and the countess’s interest in Ella was a credit to her, but Matthew must be freezing on the cold floor under the bed.

  “But you have reservations about Rowley’s care of the child should you marry?” The harsh tone had returned.

  At least Fanny could refute this area of consternation. “Not reservations, my lady. I am certain Matthew will be a wonderful father to Ella, but I have asked him to meet her before I can agree to marry him. I know you are aware that if a woman marries she relinquishes guardianship of her children to a man who is no blood relative to them.”

  “That is the law of England, my dear. No one would challenge it.”

  “Nor will I. However, I will feel much easier in my mind if Ella can meet the man who will be her new papa before it is irrevocable. I believe you might insist on the same condition were you to consider remarriage.”

  “Rowley retains guardianship of his sisters until they reach their majority or until they marry, of course. So my circumstances are somewhat different than yours, although I do take your point.” The lady’s brows that had furrowed, now smoothed themselves out. “And has he agreed to meet your daughter?”

  “Yes, he has. Next week or as soon as possible after this house party.”

  Lady Lathbury shook her head and rose, a rueful smile on her lips. “My son goes to Scotland for a shooting party with Lord Kinellan next week. I am afraid he will not put that off.”

  “But he already has.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The countess stopped in the midst of reaching for the door handle.

  “He informed Lord Kinellan this evening that he would not be attending the shooting party.” Although Fanny had known Matthew enjoyed his sport, she’d had no idea asking him to cancel his plans to attend Lord Kinellan’s shooting party would be considered such a privation. Did he truly wish to attend? His meeting with Ella could be put off another week or two. There was no hurry, save now she wished to marry him with all haste.

  Turning back to face Fanny, Lady Lathbury grasped her arm. “I believe I had not correctly gauged the depth of his regard for you, then, Lady Stephen. Rowley has almost never postponed or cancelled a sporting trip, particularly not when it was shooting in Scotland.” She gave Fanny’s arm a friendly shake. “I would ask if my daughter and I could accompany Rowley to London and meet your daughter? If their approval of one another is all that stands between you and a betrothal, then by all means, let us make haste to Town.”

  “You will certainly be welcomed at the Marquess of Theale’s town house, my lady. That is where I currently make my home with Ella.” Fanny laid her hand over the countess’s. “I would be delighted to see you and Lady Beatrice in London when Matthew comes to call.”

  “Just so. But I have trespassed on your time long enough. You must get some rest. Tomorrow is another full day.” Lady Lathbury nodded and headed to the door. “You may come out from underneath the bed now, Rowley. You must get your rest as well.”

  Fanny’s jaw dropped and she clutched her dressing gown to her as though it were a shield. “Wha . . . what do you mean, my lady?”

  A fiendish grin flickered on and off the countess’s face so fast Fanny could scarcely be sure she saw it. “So difficult for a large man to hide completely under that bed.”

  Pivoting, Fanny stared at the floor, confounded at how their subterfuge had failed. At last she spied Matthew’s pale foot, wedged against the dark leg of the bed in plain sight. She’d thought it a discarded fich
u the maid had missed. The countess had known the whole time. His mother had known about . . . Her cheeks burned with a fire she wished would consume her on the spot.

  “Good evening, my dear.”

  Fanny stood staring at the telltale foot until the door closed behind the lady. Dear Lord, what must she think of her? Not that she even had to ask in truth.

  “Get me out of this bloody place before I freeze my bollocks off and no one will have to worry about marrying me,” came the bellow from under the bed.

  Fanny scrambled to help Matthew inch his way out. His hands were cold, his flesh where he’d lain on the floor was cold and clammy. As he got to his feet, he began to shiver.

  “D-d-don’t just stand there, woman. I’m f-fr-freezing.”

  Throwing her arms around his body, she rubbed up and down his front, pressing her warmth to him. After a minute of vigorous rubbing, at least one part of Matthew was no longer chilly. She peered up into his grinning face.

  “Please don’t stop, love. I’m not quite warm enough yet.” He leered at her, then grabbed her behind and squeezed.

  “Matthew!” She squealed, then shushed. “Your mother was here.”

  “I know. I heard every word.” Pressing her to his swiftly hardening erection, he walked them backward toward the bed.

  “She might return.” Fanny wiggled in his grip, but that only made him harder.

  “I sincerely doubt it. And in any case, she’s as much as given us her dispensation.” He bumped into the bed and stopped. “Otherwise you’d be packing to leave and I’d be standing before her explaining myself instead of—” He seized her lips and fell back onto the bed, Fanny sprawled on top of him.

  “Ummm. How will I ever face your mother again?” Heat enough for two between them now, Fanny pulled her dressing gown over her head.

  “With my heir in your arms, she won’t say a word, for there’s only one way to get one.” Matthew lifted her and slowly impaled her on his shaft and groaned. “Many positions, but one way only.”

  CHAPTER 17

  London, late September

  “Beatrice, if you are not here in two minutes, I shall leave without you,” Matthew muttered to himself. He pulled out his pocket watch, wound the stem impatiently, and fumed. He’d already assisted his mother into the carriage five minutes ago, and they should have left for Theale House five minutes before that. Just one more in the host of interminable delays he’d suffered since his house party almost a month ago. Had he known he’d not be meeting Fanny again until today, he would not have cut his shooting trip short after all.

  In the aftermath of his mother’s early morning conversation with Fanny, she had insisted he attend Kinellan’s party, despite the fact Matthew had expressly told her his absence there did not matter a jot to him. What mattered was marrying her, by God, and he had meant every word. The woman had, however, got the bit between her teeth and absolutely demanded that he attend the shooting in Scotland.

  Never let it be said that a Hunter turned down an opportunity to hunt when so commanded. The first week had been excellent, save his yearning to have Fanny at his side anytime but when he was out in the field. Even there he’d been reminded of her for Kinellan had invited Lady John at the very last minute. Had he known that, he’d have begged an invitation for Fanny as well. Lady John had accompanied them out to the shoot each day, unheard of in Matthew’s book. He’d come to suspect, over the course of that week, that his friend was a touch enamored of the pretty widow. None of his affair, if so, but Kinellan had best see to his nursery with a woman of a better childbearing age.

  Matthew shook his head and peered up the staircase. “Upton.” The butler had been hovering this morning. “Send to Lady Beatrice that I will be leaving in one minute by the clock whether she is here or not.”

  “I am here, Matthew. Have I set up your bristles?” Bea tripped merrily down the steps, pulling on her gloves, as carefree as a lark.

  “You have made us unconscionably late for tea with Lady Stephen.” He grabbed her arm, none too gently, and escorted her to the waiting carriage.

  “Would you really have left me if I’d tarried just one more minute?” Eyes tip-tilted up at him, dancing with mischief, made Matthew pity the poor soul his sister finally brought up to scratch.

  “I would have left you in the dust without a qualm.” He handed her in and climbed in after, taking the backward-facing seat and rapping on the trap in one hurried movement. “Theale House in Mayfair, Harris.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The horses moved off at once and Matthew leaned back in the soft leather seat. Almost there.

  “I don’t see why you’re fretting so, brother. In a little while you will be seeing your love every day of the year. I doubt you’ll be so impatient then.” Grinning at him, Beatrice fairly shook with glee at his annoyance.

  “That obviously shows you have never been in love, Beatrice.” Their mother spoke up with an indulgent look at her daughter. “If you had been, you would understand how painful it is not to be with that person. Your brother has shown remarkable restraint over the past several weeks.”

  “Especially since, had it not been for you, we should have made this journey the moment I returned from Scotland.” He stared determinedly at Bea. She should be made to feel uncomfortable.

  “I could not help that Sarah insisted on getting married so quickly. And you know I would never miss being her bridesmaid, no matter what you said, Matthew.” The stubborn set to Beatrice’s jaw had not changed since she announced her friend’s coming marriage and her own role in the ceremony. “It’s your own fault for holding the house party in August. If you hadn’t, Sarah would never have met Lord Malin and fallen in love.”

  Lady Skelton had been in alt ever since Malin, a marquess Matthew’d known at university, had asked Skelly for permission to marry his sister. Always an impetuous chap, Malin hadn’t wasted a moment after that first evening. The couple had married immediately and were currently touring France in wedded bliss. In less than three weeks. At the rate Matthew was courting Fanny he might hope to be married within the next three years.

  The carriage slowed and Matthew’s heart beat painfully in his chest. If the meeting with Fanny’s daughter went well, could he possibly convince her to marry him by special license tomorrow? He’d be in alt if he could just have everything settled and Fanny as his bride before the month was out.

  * * *

  For what seemed like the hundredth time, Fanny peeped out of the window of the small, front receiving room in Theale House. Matthew, Lady Lathbury, and Lady Beatrice were supposed to have already arrived, although she’d been expecting Matthew for so long, and been constantly disappointed, she almost despaired of ever seeing him again. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she sighed and resumed pacing about the room.

  When she’d left Hunter’s Cross in late August she’d imagined they would be married in a matter of weeks. Those weeks had turned into a month, and although the explanations for the delays had been understandable, she wanted the waiting to be over. Each successive day without the hope of seeing him had brought growing pain to her heart. Today, after he met Ella, she would insist they make their final plans for a quick ceremony and a long wedding trip. She didn’t care where they went, as long as they were together and alone.

  The sharp clip-clop of horses’ hooves rang out on the pavement below and she darted back to the window in time to see the door to a large black landau open. Matthew emerged and her mouth dried instantly. Her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded. Lord, this was no time to swoon. But looking at his handsome face, after all this time, sent an aching need through her that wiped away all other discomforts. She drew back before he could notice her and moved to stand near the doorway, trying hard not to fidget.

  He was here!

  Noyes entered and bowed. “Lady Lathbury, Lady Beatrice Hunter, Lord Lathbury, my lady.”

  The room seemed to explode with chatter as Beatrice darted forward to embrace her. “F
anny, I am so happy to see you again at last. I have told my brother repeatedly for the past few weeks that we needed to make this visit, but he has constantly dragged his heels about it.”

  “Beatrice,” Lady Lathbury stopped her daughter with a word, “you may sit in silence until I give you leave to join the conversation.”

  With a mischievous glance at Fanny, Beatrice retired to the chaise, her mouth puckering but effectively mute.

  “Lady Stephen, so nice to meet you again.” The countess curtsied and sat on the sofa. “Please, come sit beside me. We have so much to catch up.”

  “I believe I will say good afternoon to Fanny before she does so, Mother.” Matthew drew her to his side, his eyes blazing with a desire that made her weak. He raised her hand for a kiss. “Good afternoon, my love.”

  At the touch of his lips on her skin the walls around them wavered. She needed him to take her away and fill her body with his powerful essence, to make her whole and them one again.

  “Soon, love, I promise,” he whispered in her ear.

  She nodded and stepped back from him, cheeks heating. If her need had been that apparent to him, had it also been to the others? What must his mother think? Well, after their early morning encounter at Hunter’s Cross, she knew very well what his mother thought of her. Resisting the urge to fan her face, she smiled serenely and went to sit beside Lady Lathbury.

  “I am sorry our visit was so delayed, my dear,” the countess began. “First, of course, Rowley attended Lord Kinellan’s party in Scotland.”

  “And returned earlier than originally planned in order to leave for London.” Matthew broke in, taking a seat opposite them.

  His mother glared at him. “I am speaking, Rowley.”

  “My pardon, Mother.” He threw up his hands and sat back in the chair.

  Beatrice giggled, but a glower from her brother silenced her again.

  “Yes, he did return to Hunter’s Cross around the eighth of September only to find—”